The Guilty Party
by storyfan101
Summary: When guilt is the host, who does it invite to the party?  Only those that suffer the most.


I wasn't able to move on with my _Buddy's_ story until I got this out of the way. Amanda Hawthorn's '_When Sorrow Comes to Stay'_ started it. I just needed to work out my own issues.

**The Guilty Party**

Michael sat at the bar with his hands wrapped around a short glass with only the remains of melting ice. When the bartender passed his way, Michael caught his eye and raised his glass; the international drinking sign for ordering another. He wasn't keeping a tally of how many had already gone down. Whatever that number was, it wasn't enough. It would be enough when he couldn't feel the pain knifing into his heart and the memories stopped tumbling around and tormenting him. He didn't think there could ever be enough. But tonight he was going to try.

The bartender placed a scotch on the rocks down on the bar top, he waited long enough for Michael to release the empty glass and latch onto the full one.

"Might as well get another one ready," Michael tried to order with a smile, but he could barely manage that feat before he started drinking. It was a totally useless effort now.

The bartender thought about offering some small comforting advice, but stopped himself. Instead he nodded, acknowledging the order and drifted away quietly. He had served enough to know when a man's pain was beyond the common cliché.

Michael had chosen this bar for the simple fact that it was convenient. He'd never been here before and no one here knew him. Just as important, the people that did know him wouldn't know to come here to look for him. With a weary glance, he took in his surroundings. He thought he may come here again. The ambiance was just right; low lighting with music playing at just the right volume to blend in with the voices haunting him from within. The bartender knew enough to drop off the drinks and then leave him alone. Not like his _friends_.

At first Jesse had been buoyant and trying to keep the faith, "We'll find her and bring her home." How many times had he said that? Didn't matter, each time was a lie. Now Jesse came around only to check up on him. "Keep hanging in there Mike," or "You need to eat, I brought you some yogurt."

Couldn't Jesse tell that without her, food had no flavour and he had no appetite? She was gone.

Then there was his mom. "Michael, you need to fix this! I want you to go get her right now!" She had to know that if he could, he'd already have done it. Even Madeline Westen's whining couldn't change this.

He'd fixed many things, but She wasn't broken into shards and splinters. She was gone.

He also had Sam. The man hardly left him alone, only slinking away to make whispered phone calls or meet with his buddies.

His mom summed everything up nicely for him, "Everyone's worried about you. We're trying to do our best for you."

Their best just wasn't good enough. Hell, _his_ best wasn't good enough! She was still gone.

His thoughts had taken him through another mouthful of burning scotch, and now his glass was empty. He gave a wry smile. It was gone too. He sniffed back his emotions. As long as he could still feel them bubbling there, he'd need another drink. Thank goodness the bartender was better at his job than Michael was at his. He found another drink waiting for him. Safe and sound, just sitting there waiting patiently until Michael got around to taking it. Just like her. As soon as he recognized that she had been waiting for him and he acknowledged he wanted her, she was gone. Just like this drink would soon be.

It was his fault. She waited for him. She loved him. She turned herself in for him. She was gone for him.

What did he do in return? Nothing that matched up to the gifts she had given to him. He hadn't brought her back.

"This seat taken?"

Michael looked over. He should have known. For the last six months he had been his second shadow.

"I knew I should have turned my phone off," Michael spoke into his glass.

Sam shrugged. He eyed his friend with worry, but only sighed in resignation. When the bartender stepped in to take away an empty glass, Sam ordered a beer.

Unable to look Michael in the eye, Sam spoke to the reflections in the mirror behind the bar, "You've been holding up better than I expected. I thought this day would have come a long time ago."

"You haven't actually given me much of a chance to run off and drown my sorrows," Michael pointed out and received a nod in reply. "Between Jesse, mom…you; there's been lot's of worry and little else. I still don't know where she is."

Sam turned in his seat to finally look at Michael, "Promises have been made."

In a release of pent up anger, Michael slammed his glass onto the bar top. What little alcohol hadn't been drank, was forcibly sploshed over the rim. The amber liquid trickling over his fingers went unnoticed.

"What about the promise I made, Sam?" Michael roared.

The bartender looked at him nervously as he dropped off Sam's beer. Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He calmed visibly, allowing the bartender to continue with another customer further along the bar.

"When there's something to do, you'll do it," Sam quietly stared at his fingers as they picked at the label of his bottle.

"What will I do, Sam?" all the pent up hurt Michael had been hiding for six months was flowing freely now.

"I don't know yet," Sam tried to meet his friend's eyes, "No one knows where she's being kept, Mike."

"I know that, Sam," Michael let out a bitter laugh. "Why do you think I'm here? Grilling the liquor bottles on what they know? You think that bottle of Jack Daniels is holding something back? I do. I'm gonna get that bartender to bring him over here and I'll put Jack out of his misery. And hopefully he'll put me out of mine."

"It won't help, Mikey," Sam said.

For a moment neither spoke, allowing the other to drift with his own thoughts and demons.

Sam shook off the mantle his memories had placed over him. "I've been keeping track of the places she isn't. Calling in favours that aren't even owed yet. I've got a list…" Sam patted his pants pocket.

That was the last straw. Hadn't Sam already said that he had exhausted his contacts list? Twice? Even this half hearted optimism was more than Michael could stomach. Sam, always calm, always trying to be the voice of reason. Michael had had enough.

"A list is gonna tell me what to do? When to do it? Maybe you're gonna tell me?" A sidelong look at the older man showed him with eyes fixed on the running condensation dripping down the brown bottle. Using a voice Michael remembered hearing so very long ago when he was just a boy, he sneered, "You don't know nothing!"

Sam looked at Michael with the saddest look Michael had ever seen on his face. It was as if his own pain was reflecting back at him through deep brown eyes and a scruffy chin.

With a voice barely loud enough to beat out the music and his own haunting inner voice, Michael heard Sam's answer, "I _know_ that I was the last one to be in the loft with her. I _know_ that I was the one to pass her the purse. I _know_ that I was the one that allowed himself to be snared in her handcuffs."

Sam placed his bottle, without so much as a single swallow of beer missing, back onto the bar. He stood ever so slowly, as if time had aged him more than double. Sam looked down at his hands, placed on the edge of the bar.

"I _know_ I made a promise to her to watch out for you. Then I _know_ **I** let Fiona go," Sam turned back to face Michael, tears hot behind his eyes, refusing to be allowed their freedom. "And I'm sorry."

Sam slowly walked to the door. He didn't look back. He was unable to watch the effect his words would take.

With eyes wide open. There was a dawning of understanding; and it didn't come from any glass of scotch. He wasn't the only one with an aching heart. He wasn't the only one missing someone he loved. He wasn't the only one with guilt plaguing his conscience.

Pushing the empty glass to the far side of the bar top, Michael thought about his options. With a determination he thought he had lost he opened his wallet and threw what twenties he found there onto the bar. If he hurried, he could catch Sam. Together they would, or more likely wouldn't, acknowledge where their feelings had taken them. But they would look at that list. If they knew where she wasn't, they'd soon have a list of where she might be.


End file.
